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We could have gone there THIS weekend if you’d fucking invited me.

Me: I don’t see having any free weekends for a while.

I run to Victoria’s apartment on my way into the office to meet a friend of hers. “Paperwork issue”, she was told, when her daughter wasn’t released from juvenile detention as planned, “things slow down because of the holidays”, as if that’s a valid excuse to keep a fourteen-year-old girl locked up. It’s in no way my area of the law, but if you have a lawyer who can call on your behalf, casually throwing around phrases like standard of care and civil penalties, you tend to come out better than when you don’t.

I tell her I’ll make the call but promise nothing beyond that. I can’t represent her formally without getting the firm’s approval, and this is definitely not the time to get caught defying Fields. I shouldn’t even be placing the call, but what am I supposed to do—force some teenage girl to remain locked up without reason because I’m scared of my boss?

We finish our meeting and I head to the front door. It’s only as I reach for my purse that I notice the envelopes on the front table addressed to Santa.

Victoria has almost nothing left after she pays rent and buys groceries. I wonder how the hell she manages gifts too.

“They did it at church,” she says, shaking her head. “I wish they’d stop encouraging my kids to expect more than they’re gonna get.”

“I can mail them for you,” I offer.

She shrugs. “Won’t make a difference. I think the post office just throws them out.”

I grab the envelopes anyway, tucking them into my purse.

When I reach the car, I check Drew’s social media again, though I really shouldn’t, and find she’s posted a photo from the night before. There are ten of them sitting at a long table in what appears to be a crowded bar: her and her husband, his friend Hayes and Hayes’s wife, Tali, two men who seem to be a couple...and, at the very end, Ben, with his arm around Juliet Cantrell, a gorgeous singer I’ve seen in Drew’s photos before. She’s tucked into his side, her hand resting on his chest.

The caption reads Three bottles of wine later…and @julescantrell was already having way too much fun BEFORE the wine arrived.

My stomach starts to fall. He’s never even mentioned her, but why would he? It’s not like he owes me an explanation. We’re not even a couple.

I start to scroll back through Drew’s feed, driven by terror and also certainty: I don’t know what I’m looking for, but I’ll know when I find it.

And then I do. It’s a picture from Drew’s wedding—her and her husband slow dancing, and behind them, standing just as close, and looking into each other’s eyes—Ben and Juliet.

With shaking hands, I turn the phone facedown on my lap, breathing through my nose. My eyes sting and I fight it, hands clenching into fists.

I knew this moment would come. I did. And I’ve dreaded its arrival every day since this thing with Ben began. As hard as it is, as sick as I feel right now, at least I get to stop waiting for it—the moment is here. Now I just have to put the pain—and him—into my past, where they belong.

I text Keeley and tell her I’m coming to the party after all.

The rain has ended by the time I reach the mansion. The bass is thumping, a strobe light is flashing, and scantily clad girls are dancing by the pool and drinking something too blue to be natural.

“You made it!” Keeley cries, throwing her arms around me. I suspect she’s had plenty of the blue drink, and that it’s probably extremely strong.

One hour later, I’ve had two of them myself and Keeley is insisting I have a third. I showed her the pictures of him and Juliet—she was already inclined to think the worst of him, thanks to me, and that sealed his fate. She’s now determined to get me laid, while I’m simply determined to become more numb than I am.

“Your phone is ringing,” says a girl on the other end of the hot tub, grabbing it from the table behind her and handing it to me.

The phone is no longer ringing by the time I take it. The screen says I have two missed calls from Ben.

“Ignore him,” says Keeley. “No, wait. Don’t ignore him. Let’s video call good ol’ Ben.” Her face stretches into an absolutely evil smile as she grabs the phone from me.

“What are you doing?” I demand. Talking to him is not a part of the plan. Not talking to him, actually, is my entire plan at present.

“Giving him a taste of his own medicine,” she replies, handing me my phone just as Ben’s face appears on screen. For a moment I’m struck by how much I miss him. How much it hurts that he didn’t invite me on this trip, that he took someone else instead. I want to beg him to explain, but even drunk, I’m ashamed of the impulse. He owes me nothing, and even if he did…it would be pathetic.

He frowns, two matching furrows between his brows. “Where are you?” he demands, sounding a little pissed. Keeley just to my left, giggles.

“At a party,” I reply, civil and nothing more. “Some gamer’s mansion.”

Keeley leans into the frame, resting her chin on my shoulder. “Commander Shane,” she brags, as if he’s going to be impressed by this or even know who the fuck Commander Shane is.

“I thought you said it was a little get-together.” And now there’s no mistaking how irate he is. “And why the fuck are you wearing a bikini?”